


The Light of Duncade

by sherlockislovely



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockislovely/pseuds/sherlockislovely
Summary: She was uncomplicated, over-optimistic, and arguably the best thing that ever happened to that godforsaken town. Butler waits for Artemis to return from Hybras, but finds something else in the process. Butler/Bronagh





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally going to be a one-shot, but it got a little long. 2-parts and probably my favorite thing I've ever written.

Part One

The first time he saw her, he had already been in Duncade for almost eleven months. He didn’t physically have a calendar, but up to that point, he had counted the days. 

Butler hadn't thought much of the woman as she stepped out of the moving van, her shoes scraping against the pebbles on the sidewalk, and the buttons on her overalls clinking softly. _Just another tourist who would end up leaving within a month_ , he thought. You see, Duncade had a sort of charm, with its white cottages and ocean view, and even the isolation seemed to be an attractive factor to some. However, after a few weeks of grey skies, high tide, and absolute boredom, even the most hardened hipster turned tail back to Dublin. Not Butler, though. It’s not like he had anywhere better to be.

The red-headed woman tossed her hair up in a bun and pulled a box out of the back of the van. She huffed, as if it was more weight than she thought it would be. Readjusting her grip, she lugged the box up the three steps of the faded cottage house, kicking the door open with her foot.

Butler smiled at the sight before realizing he was staring. He considered helping the woman, but thought better of it. He had told himself he wouldn’t get entangled in the lives of the locals. He didn't intend to be there that long. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him he had already been there for a year, though. 

* * *

When he saw her next, it was almost a month later, and she was yelling at one of the younger fisherman in the town. The pair stood just near the pier, the wooden planks rocking on their buoys. 

"You had no right to sell that boat, Tommy!" She shouted, her hands thrown out around her. The man - Tommy, Butler assumed - took a step back, but his face remained stern. 

"Gregor gave me the ownership. I sold it. End of story!" The man crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. The woman stomped her foot.

"It wasn't his to give!" She hissed, her expression hard as steel, except for the small tremble of her lip. The man sighed.

"Your mother left a long time ago. She's not coming back for the boat." He said, a pitying look on his face. Grabbing his lure box from the ground, he stepped past the woman, leaving her fuming as she looked out at the boats. She looked up and caught Butler’s gaze, who evaded his eyes quickly. She turned on her heels and made her way up the nearest path. 

* * *

Butler didn’t know how long it was before he saw her again, but the leaves on the few trees on the north hill had started to turn yellow - a sure sign of autumn. The days were still warm, but the evening brought a chill with the setting of the sun. Butler made his way back up the road to his cottage, passing by the few shops in town. A bait shop, of course, which still held a few dawdling customers. The restaurant/pub, which only stayed in business through its sale of whiskey. There, the fishermen would be drinking and singing Loch Lomond well into the night. The last gem of the village was the small market, where the fishermen often traded their catch of the day, as well as stories of the sea. 

Butler trekked up the hill, finding the last cottage on the gravel street. He walked up to the door, as he had done many times in the last year. As he typed in the code on the keypad, he glanced over to the hill near the rock they called Mother Superior. Sitting near the edge of the cliff was the red-headed woman, pulling apart a flower and watching the sunset. Her hair twirled lazily in the breeze and the orange glow of the sun illuminated her light skin. She cast the petal-less flower to the ground and picked another from her feet.

The keypad beeped and Butler looked back at the door, opening it halfway, pausing to glance at the woman for a moment, and then continuing into the small residence. 

* * *

The next time they crossed paths, Butler was sitting at his normal bench under the canopy near the rocks. The area had a decent view of the ocean spread, and he had found that the sound of the waves was rather calming. Generally, people left him alone in this spot, though it may have had more to do with the unnerving man who sat there, rather than the spot itself. 

"Do you not get cold, sitting there?" A voice asked, the Irish accent barely cutting through the frosty air. It was the woman. Her gloved hands pulled at the collar of her coat, allowing her mouth to become visible as she spoke. Butler gazed at her, then down at the jacket on his own body.

"Not particularly." He replied. Actually, he hadn't even noticed the cold. He looked out at the water, just then realizing that the floating docks were already halfway frozen into the bay. Butler looked back at the woman. "Do you know what day it is?" 

"It's Thursday." She replied with a small smile. Butler blinked a few times before shaking his head.

"No, uh, what is the date?" He asked more clearly. The woman looked up at the sky, her brows furrowed in short concentration.

"It's the 21st, I believe." She nodded to herself, and then looked back at the man in front of her. 

"Of?" Butler asked. The woman shook her head, the red waves of her hair flowing around her face.

"Of? Well, November, of course." She gave Butler an odd look. If he didn’t know better, he would say she looked intrigued. Perhaps she just thought he was crazy.

Just then, the bell at the top of the hill rang, signaling that it was noon. Butler marked the page in his book and stood up from his bench. He bowed slightly to the woman.

"Have a nice day, Ma'am." He said, folding the book under one arm and finding his way to the sidewalk that led back into town.

_Ma'am?_ The woman thought, pushing her hands deep into her pockets.

* * *

The next week, the woman came back. And then the week after that. Each Thursday she came down the path, held a short conversation with the large man, and then he would leave at the bell. The day the first snow fell, she sat down on the bench beside him, protected under the awning from the weather.

"May I ask your name?" She inquired. Butler considered, for a moment, using one of his previous aliases. 

"I'm Bronagh." She said before he could reply. Butler paused for a moment, remembering his vow to not get involved with the locals. He looked down at her outreached hand and caved.

"James." He said, as he shook her hand. 

* * *

"What are you waiting for?" She said one day as she tossed a pebble at the water. It fell short, bouncing off the black rocks. Butler turned a page in his book.

"Who says I'm waiting?" He asked, his eyes only glancing up to see where her pebble had fallen.

"What else would you be doing here? In Duncade, that is." She shrugged. Another pebble was tossed, and though it reached the water, it bounced off the frozen surface as well. 

"I suppose I'm just waiting for something to happen." 

"Are you expecting something to happen?" She asked, leaning back against the bench with a sigh. She worked her hands back into her gloves, rubbing them together to warm them.

"I'm hoping it will." Butler replied. His mind wandered for a short amount of time before he was brought out of his thoughts by Bronagh's voice.

"Not much happens here, yeah? You might be waiting awhile." 

_That's what I'm afraid of,_ Butler thought.

* * *

Eventually the worst of winter passed, the snow turned to rain, and the fishing boats slowly ventured back onto the water. 

Butler watched as the red-haired woman made her way down the path and he moved over slightly on the bench. He noticed, today, that her shirt held bright stains of paint and her freckled face held a smile. For the first time, he found that he longed to know more about her. For months, they had sat at that bench, yet they were still only strangers who knew each other’s names. 

"What are _you_ waiting for?" Butler asked after she had sat down. Bronagh raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not in the business of waiting." She replied, her curved nose pointing up at the implication.

"Then why Duncade?" 

"Coming back to my roots, I suppose." She said, her heels drawing circles in the pebble beach. "I grew up here, with my dad." 

"Is he still alive, your father?" 

"Oh, yeah, he just needs help getting around." She paused and smirked. “On Thursdays, I bring him to the port house to see his old fishing buddies. That’s the only reason I’m here next to you, of course."

* * *

The next time they saw each other, it was not at the bench. That day, he sat at the village restaurant, sipping a coffee that was weak and bitter, and definitely not worth the Euros. It was middle March, though Butler was only partially aware of this. He looked across the way to one of three cottages visible from the business. One cottage stood out from the others, as the flowers and bushes planted about gave color to the otherwise monochromatic town. The moving van that had been parked in front of the residence earlier in the year was barely a memory in Butler’s mind. 

Bronagh stepped out from behind a bush and looked out into the street, her green eyes squinting against the rays peeking out from the clouds. Her gaze stopped on Butler and she smiled, waving her hand softly at him.

Butler waved, but his face remained stoic.

* * *

"Who's the girl?" Minerva handed Butler a book with a red cover, which he gladly accepted. 

"There's no girl." He replied simply, placing the book on the shelf next to him. Butler pulled a jacket around his large shoulders as Minerva sighed.

"You've brushed your hair, actually washed that dreadful jacket - though in my opinion there's no saving it - and you started reading the poetry books I gave you, which you had never even touched before." She rambled off the observant list and Butler blinked. _She's becoming much like Artemis,_ he thought. 

"There's no girl." He repeated. Minerva threw up her hands.

"Okay, if you say so." She said exasperatedly. The blonde now-teenager leaned forward as she watched Butler set up the chess board, tapping on her chin as she did so.

"It's that woman that always has paint on her clothes, isn’t it?" 

"Minerva." Butler groaned at the girl.

* * *

Late in April, Bronagh made her way to the cottage on the edge of town. She hadn’t known, exactly, where to find the man called James, and since he hadn’t seemed to talk to anyone else in town, the grapevine was not very helpful. Eventually, though, she narrowed it down by which houses he was _not_ in. It was a slow process.

The woman stopped at the door, looking at the keypad and security camera that were definitely not consistent with the other cottages surrounding it. She wondered, for a moment, who she had befriended (acquaintanced?), before making a fist and knocking lightly on the door. 

At first, she didn’t believe him to be home, and she considered turning around and walking back down the hill. It hadn’t been a good idea, anyway, really. He could be a psychopath for all she knew, and that list of things she knew about him was inarguably short. 

Just then, the door opened and a puzzled Butler - or James, as Bronagh knew him - looked out into the early morning. Bronagh perked up, painting a smile on her face.

"Um, hi. Hello." She said, rocking slightly on her heels. Butler was about to say something when the woman continued. "I was in the area, and I’ve passed by before and never stopped. That is, to say, that I didn’t know before that you lived here. But now I do, and I just thought I would stop and say hi." She paused and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "So… hi." 

Butler stared at her with an open mouth for a few seconds, then looked back inside his empty living space.

"Uh, would you... Like to come inside?" He asked. Bronagh looked surprised.

"Yeah, yes." She nodded and Butler moved aside to allow her through the door. The woman looked around at the sparse room. The bulk of the objects in the room was a few bookshelves and the writing that filled them. Other than that, a chair and a table were the only things she noticed. Butler cleared his throat.

"I, uh, don’t have much in the way of drinks, unless you like Earl Grey." Butler said. Bronagh waved her hand.

"Oh, no, I'm fine." She whispered, reading several of the titles on the nearest shelf. "Where do you get all of these?" 

"Some of them I brought with me." Butler replied, picking up a stray book and placing it in between two others. "The rest I get from my... niece." 

"The blonde one?" Bronagh asked, running her fingers over the spines of the books. Butler almost cracked a smile.

"Yes, that one."

Bronagh pulled a book from the shelf and flipped it over in her hands. It was leather bound and the spine crackled when she opened it.

"The Original Grimm's Fairytales." She read. Butler smiled slightly, remembering when he had read those particular stories to Artemis. Bronagh looked up. “A bit gruesome in my opinion.”

“They’re an acquired taste.”

* * *

By the time summer rolled back around, it had been almost two years that Butler had taken occupation in the small village of Duncade. Two years that he had waited for his charge to come back. In a small moment of weakness, he realized he might never see the boy again, and he might spend the rest of his life waiting in the godforsaken town. He looked down at the woman sitting on the grass at his feet.

"Do you think you’ll leave?” Butler asked. “When your father has… passed?” He tried to word the question carefully, but the failed sensitivity in the words didn’t seem to affect the Irish woman.

"I'm not sure." She replied. Butler furrowed his brow.

"Why would you stay?"

"It’s not too bad here." The woman said simply, her green eyes searching the ground for the clippers she held only a minute ago. Butler bent down and held them out in front of her.

"It’s always raining." He stated, looking up at the grey skies, though no raindrops fell at the moment. Bronagh smiled.

"Oh, the blues skies become even more beautiful when you have to wait for them, don’t you think?" 

"I suppose that's the positive way to look at it." Butler replied, scrunching his nose. The red-head shrugged.

"Then that’s the only way to look at it." 

Butler looked at the woman as she engrossed herself in a bush, trimming the edges with the clippers. He could honestly say he had never met someone quite like her.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Though Butler did not pay much attention to the date, as August neared its end, he couldn’t help but _not_ know what day it was. When September 1st rolled around, he lay in his bed longer than usual, staring at the visible dust dancing in the sunlight. Eventually, he rolled over and stared at the wall instead.  _He’s sixteen today,_ Butler thought.

It was a Thursday.

And Bronagh found the bench seat by the bay empty.

* * *

A knock pulled Butler out of his catatonic state. The sun had not yet completely set as he made his way to the door. He pulled it open just as a hand reached up to knock again.

"Oh." Bronagh said. "I wasn’t sure..." She trailed off, her eyes avoiding his. She started again, choosing her words before she spoke this time. "You weren’t at your usual spot today, and I just wanted to see if you were okay." 

Butler squinted his eyes at the slowing retreating light. 

"I'm fine." He responded. Bronagh raised an eyebrow at him. 

"You look like you haven't slept in a year... Uhm, no offense."

"None taken." Butler said, walking away from the door, but leaving it open. Bronagh followed through, pushing the door closed behind her until she heard the click of the lock. She stepped over some books on the ground and picked up a blanket off the floor.

"You sure you're okay?" She asked, folding the blanket and setting it down on the lone chair in the room. Butler sighed as he removed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and leaned against the counter of the small kitchen. 

"Yes, Bronagh." 

The woman frowned, looking the man over.

"You just seem... I don’t know… sad. Like there’s something you need to talk about.” She said. Butler looked at her, shaking his head.

"It’s not something I _can_ talk about." 

"You _can’t_ talk about it, or you _won’t_ talk about it?" Bronagh said, putting a hand on her hip as she walked toward the Eurasian man. 

"Both." 

"Hmm."

"Indeed."

Butler stared at the woman, and she stared back, a silent standoff between the two. She stood her ground fiercely, her eyes defiant behind stray pieces of red hair. Butler put down the bottle of water, placing it behind him on the counter. 

_I hope you know what you're doing_ , he told himself. Before he could talk himself out of it, he had crossed the few feet between them and cupped her cheeks, bringing her lips up to his. 

It wasn’t long, and there were no fireworks, but Butler didn’t need any blue sparks to see the magic there. 

Bronagh pulled away as he did, her eyes blinking open slowly. She couldn’t say what they had just been talking about.

"That was-"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to-"

"Yes." Butler replied, bringing her into another kiss. This one was longer and deeper than the previous one, and anyone can guess what happened next.

But we’ll allow some discretion there.

* * *

Before Butler knew it, things had changed, and somehow a little bit of light had begun to shine on Duncade.

The man rolled onto his back, looking over at the woman sitting in his bed as she read a book in the light of the morning. Sometimes he wasn’t entirely sure that she was real. He would look at her and worry that she was some figment of his imagination, conjured up by his tired and lonely mind. Butler worried that he would reach out to her, and she would turn into little more than dust, a refraction of light. So, when he reached out to caress her arm lazily, he closed his eyes in silent relief as he felt the real skin under his fingertips and the real heat radiating from her form.

"You mumble in your sleep, sometimes." Bronagh said, looking over at the man. She noted briefly that his feet hung off the end of the bed. Butler grunted.

"I don't mumble." He mumbled. His head fell back down to the pillow.

"Who's Artemis?" The woman asked, a genuine curiosity in her expression. Butler looked at her in surprise. Bronagh shrugged. "What? You mumble." She paused. "And you mumble about her quite a bit." 

Butler’s head popped up again from the pillow.

"What?" He shook his head to clear his mind. "No, Artemis is a boy." 

" _Oh."_  

"No, no, _not_ -" Butler sighed, finally sitting up and leaning against the wall. "Artemis was a job. Well, Artemis was my life, really. He was also a friend. _Is_ a friend." The man looked down. 

"What happened to him?" Bronagh whispered. Butler didn't look at her.

"I couldn't protect him, and he... left." Was all he could muster. The woman turned to face him. 

"Is he what you wait for?" She asked, absently entwining her fingers with his. Butler looked at her eyes, which shone with a kind of understanding that he didn’t want to see. He didn't want to think that she could know this feeling that he carried every day. He didn’t want her to hurt like that.

"Yes." He replied. She nodded.

"And if he comes back?" 

"Then I’ll have to leave." 

Silence hung between them for a while, both trying to process his words. Bronagh’s hand moved softly against Butler's. There wasn’t much either could say.

They never brought it up again.

* * *

Butler glared at the waves, his mind focused on the white caps furthest from his sight. He could hear the ocean beating at the cliff below his seated figure, and the gulls squawking at the pebble beach a half mile down.

“Staring will only make your eyes hurt.”

Butler turned around to the voice. Of course, he had heard her footsteps long before she had gotten close – he wasn’t that out of practice, but he turned to her nonetheless. Bronagh walked up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed them slightly before wrapping her arms around his neck.

“The sun set an hour ago.” She whispered into his ear. He took a deep breath.

“I know. But I got out here an hour late this morning.” Butler pointed out, feeling her smirk against his cheek. She was surely thinking of _why_ he had been held up that morning.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t see a damn thing coming in from those waters right now.” Bronagh said, pulling back from the man. Butler knew she was right, but the single change in his normal schedule had made him tense. It was only a few steps away from forgetting to watch for Artemis, and in extension, forgetting Artemis entirely. If that ever happened, he would never forgive himself. “I still don’t understand why you think he’s going to appear out on the water anyway. You know, I’m starting to think this friend of yours is a fish.”

Butler chuckled and nodded.

“A fish out of water, maybe.”

* * *

"What's your real name?" She asked one day, looking out over the October water as they sat together on the bench. The question was calm, as if she had simply asked what his favorite color was. 

"What makes you think my name isn’t James?" Butler said, willing his fast beating heart to slow down. 

"I’ve always known you weren't a James. When I asked your name, you paused. People don’t do that with their real names, they don’t have to think about it." Bronagh said. Somehow, the mood of their conversation was still light. She wasn't accusing him. It was just a curiosity.

"If I tell you my name, it could put you and myself in danger." He replied, finally. 

"You don’t have to worry about me. I'm a big girl."

"I can’t help it." Butler stated. He considered her eyes steadily. She relented, sighing deeply.

"Well I can’t very well call you James, now, can I? I'd feel rather silly, knowing what I know." Bronagh smirked at him as she pulled his arm around her shoulder. Butler rubbed his forehead.

"Well... my middle name is Erik, I can give you that much." He said. 

"Hmmm... Sounds good to me." She laid her head back against his bicep, closing her eyes. Butler looked down at her.

"Just like that?" 

"Just like that."

* * *

In December, Butler encountered a group of the fishermen that had taken to caroling - though their drunken harmonies sounded much more like whale sounds. Basically, slamming the door in their faces was how he figured out it was almost Christmas.

Juliet, of course, had asked him to come to the manor. However, given that he couldn’t look Angeline and Artemis Senior in the eye, he declined that idea. Ah, well, he wasn’t one much for holidays anyway.

And so, Christmas passed without much incident, except Bronagh had gifted him a calendar. Now Butler usually knew what the date was because he had to look at the dolphin-themed calendar every morning.

* * *

“What does your tattoo mean?”

Butler looked up from the pot on the stove over his shoulder to the woman leaning over the counter. She was wearing his shirt, the fabric exceedingly loose over her figure. He smiled inwardly as he took a mental picture of her simple beauty.

“I received it for finishing training.” He said, watching her tilt her head.

“Like in the army?” She asked, creasing her eyebrows and putting a hand under her chin. Butler squinted and his mouth parted slightly.

“Kind of…” He replied. Turning back to the boiling pot, he could hear her feet stepping across the tile floor. Bronagh raised a hand to his bare shoulders, tracing the diamond tattoo with a light touch.

“You’re always so vague in your answers. Is your life really that much of a secret?” She whispered, feeling his shoulders tense underneath her fingers. Butler sighed and turned his body toward her, grabbing her hand out of the air. He spread their fingers against each other, mirroring their hands. His fingers slipped between hers and he looked down.

“You don’t want to know everything about me.”

“I think I can decide that for myself, thank you.” Bronagh placed a hand on his cheek and lifted his head, bringing his gaze to hers. The look in his eyes was distant. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t change anything.”

“It would change everything.”

“Then I guess my imagination will fill the blanks.” Bronagh said, a smirk working its way onto her mouth. Butler shifted on his feet, looking sideways for a moment. Who knew what her mind would cook up? Knowing her, she would probably create a scenario in her head where, at some point, he had been a male stripper. He looked back and nodded.

“You get three questions.”

Her eyes lit up and he instantly felt regret.

* * *

It was the beginning of February when Butler sat at the table, head resting on a fist, thinking. The next upcoming holiday itself was not likely to be celebrated by him, but it did bring up interesting questions. He didn’t know exactly _what_ they were. Had he unknowingly ended up in a relationship?

Reluctantly, he brought up the topic.

“We’re just us.” Bronagh replied, not putting too much focus on the conversation. Butler looked at her for a moment.

“That’s it?”

“That’s all I need.”

“Well, then I agree.” Butler replied, affirmatively furrowing his brow.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And that was that.

* * *

“You’re in Ireland, you can’t _not_ believe in the power of four-leaf-clovers.” She said, holding the small plant in her hand. He gave her as look as if to say, _watch me._ Bronagh groaned. “Where’s your sense of national pride? Next you’re going to say you don’t believe in fairies.” She said sarcastically.

“First of all,” Butler started, plucking the clover out of her fingers, “I’m not Irish. Secondly, I do believe in fairies.” He smiled slyly at her. His expression was so that she had to search his eyes to see if he was kidding. If he was, he was awfully good at hiding it. Bronagh leaned forward, closing the gap between them, planting a short kiss on his lips. When she pulled back, she shook her head.

“You’re an odd catch, you are.”

* * *

Soon after that fated day in April, when Hybras had returned, along with the boy he had waited three years for, it was time for Butler to leave the fishing village of Duncade. He walked slowly up to the top of the cliff, nodding to Mother Superior as he passed. Bronagh sat on the hill, her eyes focused on the sparkling waters down below. Butler came up behind her, making his presence known with the swish of the grass under his feet.

“You’re leaving.” She said clearly enough that he could hear her even with her back to him. He sighed.

“Yes.”

Bronagh stood up, turning around so that her eyes settled on his. She smiled, though it was only half-hearted.

“You always made it clear that there was no choice. If he came back, he was the _only_ choice.” She paused, looking down. “I can’t deny your honesty.”

Butler cupped her face in his hands. He realized, then, why leaving would be so hard: he was utterly and miserably in love with her. And he had never stood a chance. But it was too late for that now. He looked into her eyes, willing the green irises to be burned into his memory.

“I’m sorry that this is how this ends.” He whispered, pulling her closer and pressing his lips to her forehead. “I am forever grateful for the time we had, Bronagh.”

Bronagh closed her eyes as he held her and she eventually felt his hands drop from her face. She could hear his footsteps, but couldn’t bear to watch him leave. So, she stood there at the base of Mother Superior, eyes closed, and a hand grasping at the ghost of his touch.

And as her tears fell freely down her cheeks, she wondered how her heart could feel so full, and so empty, at the same time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you hoping for a happy ending? That sucks. Review and maybe I'll reunite them?


End file.
